“You know, Helene, I’ve never had any. Are they good?”
Helene nodded her head vigorously.
“Of course. They are called sweetberries.”
Kenders could not help but grin. She noticed Nikalys’ smile grew, too. Glancing over at Sabine, she caught the slightest upward curl of lips. Broedi showed no reaction. However, he did give another quick glance north. As he turned back around, Kenders caught his eye and asked a question she had been wanting to for a while now.
“Do you think our friends are far behind?”
Broedi held her gaze for a moment before glancing at Sabine. The young woman sat, legs crossed, staring at the darkening eastern horizon. Looking back to Kenders, Broedi rumbled, “There is a good chance they might have seen the…signal from earlier.” He paused. “It would have been quite bright.”
Kenders frowned. She had guessed that was the case.
Without ever taking her eyes from the east, Sabine said, “If you are afraid of Constables, the nearest office is over a week’s journey west. Or Fernsford in the east, which might be a day or so farther. Can they track magic that far?”
Broedi, Nikalys, and Kenders all stared at Sabine in perfect, complete silence.
The hillman recovered first, saying, “Magic?”
Sabine turned to look at Broedi, her eyes overflowing with incredulity, “A roof flies into the air, walls crumble to dust, and a giant man turns into a giant lynx?” She shook her head and huffed, “No, that’s not magic. Not magic at all.”
“Most fear magic in the duchies,” rumbled Broedi. “Yet you do not. Why?”
Sabine held Broedi’s inquisitive stare for a moment, frowned, and shifted her gaze to the fire. A moment later, Kenders felt a faint, orange crackling. The campfire flared, climbing a foot higher to envelop the cookpot, and then quickly returned to normal.
Kenders shot a look at Broedi, thinking he had been the source of the magic and wondering what had been the purpose of the display. The hillman, however, was staring at Sabine, his eyes wide and alert. Realizing what had happened, Kenders turned her gaze to Sabine and gawked.
Sabine was a mage.
The revelation stunned Kenders. Yet it was nothing compared to the shock experienced a moment later when Helene sat tall in Nikalys’ lap and clapped her hands together excitedly.
“Again, Sabine! Do it again!”
Broedi’s intense gaze shifted to Helene. Kenders stared at the little girl, too. Nikalys however, kept his eyes on Sabine.
“Hold a moment…you’re a mage?”
Shaking her head, Sabine said, “Not much of one. I can do that little trick with the fire and I can make a bucket of water cold. That’s all. Nothing like you three did earlier.”
Helene squirmed around in Nikalys’ lap to peer over at her big sister.
“Make the blue ribbons, Sabine! They’re prettier than the orange ones.”
Kenders stared at the little girl, unsure if she should be confused or surprised.
During her lessons with Broedi, she had learned that it was unusual for anyone to be able to see the Strands vividly unless they were extremely attuned to that particular type. Many mages—most according to Broedi—who could touch a certain type of Strand might only catch a small glimpse of color. They wove the magical strings on feel alone. This was why most mages required years of study to before they could be effective.
Yet, here was a four-year-old girl who could see both the flickering oranges of Fire and the rippling blues of Water.
Everyone was silent, except Helene who repeatedly asked for the ‘pretty blue ribbons.’ Her pleas became more and more insistent until Sabine snapped, “Not now, Helene! Hush!”
The little girl shut her mouth and, with a hurt, pouting look, turned to hug Nikalys tight. Instant regret filled Sabine’s face.
“I’m sorry, Helene.”
Her little sister did not turn around.
“Helene?”
Broedi abruptly asked, “Can you see the Strands when you weave?”
“What?” asked Sabine, shooting the hillman and annoyed look. “Weave? Weave what?” She turned back to peer at Helene, a frown of regret on her face.
Trying a different approach, Broedi asked, “When you do magic, how do you do it?”
Sabine shrugged.
“Mother tried to teach me, when Father was not around. She showed me the two little tricks with the fire and the water. She stopped, though. Said I did not have the talent to do more.”
Nikalys asked, “And where is your mother?” His gaze danced about the dusk-dusted grasslands.
“Passed,” replied Sabine. “She’s buried a few feet next to where I just—” She stopped, shooting a quick glance Helene. “She’s with our father.”
Inclining his head, Broedi rumbled, “I am sorry for you loss, uora.”
While Sabine’s brow wrinkled at the hillman’s strange word, she nodded nonetheless, saying, “Thank you.” She stared at her sister’s back. “She passed on the day Helene was born.”
A moment of quiet passed, after which Broedi, Nikalys, and Kenders all murmured belated condolences. Sabine nodded throughout the nice words. For just a moment, she looked soft and vulnerable—and very pretty with all of her hard edges softened.
Once the kind words fell away, a silence filled the camp. A silence eventually broken by Broedi.
“How long have you lived here?”
“My entire life,” replied Sabine, a melancholy smile on her lips. “When I was little, Mother and Father would talk about when they lived near the city.” Her eyes lit up. “Bless the gods, it sounded wondrous! So many people in one place! So much going on!”
She sighed, gave a short shake of her head, and motioned to the landscape.
“Out here it was us, the river, the crops, and the grass. So much blasted grass. I wanted to go see the city, but my parents said it was safer here. It wasn’t until I was ten years old that I finally understood what they meant by that…”
Sabine paused and looked back toward her house. Kenders had noticed that when Sabine sat down earlier this evening, the farm girl had made sure that her back was toward the stone cottage.
After a long moment, she turned back to face them and, with a strange expression on her face, asked, “If you grew up never having seen a horse, what would you say the first time you saw one?”
The question struck Kenders silent. She did not understanding its point.
“No matter,” muttered Sabine, waving her hand. “When you see something new for the very first time, you are surprised, yes? Shocked? Scared, perhaps?” Her eyebrows drew together. “Now, imagine the opposite. Pretend you have lived your whole life with something that seems entirely normal to you, but one day, you discover it is not only unnatural, but against the law.” Her tone was decidedly bitter. “In fact, it’s the entire reason your family has to live in the middle of nowhere!”
Helene lifted her head from Nikalys’ shoulder and peeked over at her sister.
“Sabine?”
The elder sister took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Close your eyes, dear.”
Helene laid her head back down as Nikalys patted her back.
Sabine waited a moment before continuing, her tone noticeably more restrained.
“When I was girl, if there was a bad dry spell, Mother would make water from the river run uphill to the fields. On hot days, we’d always have cool, clear water to drink even though the river is most definitely not clear. It was all as natural to me as the wind blowing across the plains.”
She paused, her eyes going unfocused.
“It was spring, I had just turned ten, and Mother started a fire in the hearth like she always did and I…felt it…a sort of soft buzzing in my head…”
Kenders understood what she meant. Although for Kenders, there was nothing soft about it.
“I said something to Mother about it,” said Sabine. “She…ah…well, she got upset. She insisted I never speak of it to
anyone, ever—even Father. I did not understand, but she was so insistent that I agreed. Unfortunately, Father still found out.” She sighed and shook her head. “Gods, did he ever blame Mother something fierce. When he calmed down—eventually—he said we’d make do. After all—” she waved to the grasslands “—out here, no one would ever know what I was. Father got past his anger at my meager ‘talent’ and we continued to live as we always had.”
“A few years later, Mother said she was pregnant.” A sad smile touched her lips. “We were all so happy. Especially me. I was finally going to have someone to talk to besides Mother or Father. Granted, my brother or sister would be years younger than me, but I was excited nonetheless. Seven turns later, Helene was born. Mother did not—” Her voice caught. Lifting a hand to wipe a lone tear that had snuck down her cheek, she continued, “Mother did not survive the birth.”
Kenders looked over at Helene. The little girl had never known her mother and had watched bandits murder her father. Greya, the goddess of Fate, had been cruel to the girl.
After a few moments of heavy quiet, Sabine resumed speaking, her voice steady once again.
“It was hard on Father. Very hard. He was alone now, had a farm to run, and two daughters to rear. I did what I could, effectively taking my mother’s role, and raised Helene as if she was my daughter rather than my sister. We managed, I suppose. Father did his best.”
She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Last summer, when I did one of my two ‘tricks’—cooling water—Helene starts clapping, laughing, and calling out for the ‘pretty blue ribbons.’ Father was outside in the fields, so he had no idea what was going on. Curious, I made the fire in the hearth flare and, again, Helene started to clap, demanding more of the orange ribbons.”
“I’m sorry,” muttered Nikalys. “Ribbons?”
Sabine glanced at him and smiled slightly.
“Father would go to Stooert—” she waved a hand in a general northwest direction “—for flour and supplies. Things we could not make ourselves. Every time—every time—he would come back with a small gift for each of us. That spring when he returned, he brought Helene and me silk ribbons for our hair. Helene says the magic looks like shiny ribbons.”
Broedi rumbled, “As apt of a description as any.”
Kenders agreed. The Strands did look a bit like ribbons. Some types more than others, but it was still a good way to think of them.
Sabine let out a quiet sigh, her gaze on Helene. “I didn’t want Father to be angry about Helene and magic the way he had been about me, so…we kept it a secret. Somehow.” She stared in the direction of her father’s grave amongst the longpeppers. “He never did learn the truth.”
After a few moments of quiet, she turned back to the fire. “A few turns ago, a dozen men came by the farm. They demanded a ‘shield tax’ from Father, saying they were keeping the region free of troublemakers and deserved to be compensated for it.” The disgust in her voice was unmistakable.
“Father paid them what little coin we had and they went away. Last turn, ten of them came back asking for more. We did not have it, but father promised he could pay after selling our crop during Rintira’s festival in Fernsford. They left, but seven came back today and demanded early payment. We did not have it, so they…” She hesitated, wrapped her arms around herself, and said haltingly, “They…they said that I could pay them instead. Father struck the man who said that, and…”
Pressing her lips together, she stood quickly, and moved a short distance away from the fire. Kenders made to stand, intending to go and comfort her, but a small headshake and murmured “uora” from Broedi stopped her. His eyes, brown and wise, conveyed a simple message: stay seated and leave Sabine alone. She complied and eyed Sabine. Beyond the farm girl, early evening stars were visible in the east.
After few quiet moments, Kenders peered back to the hillman and, in a low, whispered tone, asked, “So, what do we do? We can’t leave them here by themselves. And they can’t go into any of the cities where there are Constables.”
Still cradling Helene, Nikalys muttered, “She’s right.”
Broedi nodded and said, “I know.” A pensive scowl filled his face. He was clearly struggling with something. “Give me a moment, please. I am thinking.”
Kenders, sat back, shut her mouth, and waited. She wanted more than that, but pressing Broedi when he did not want to talk was a waste of time.
Eventually, Sabine returned to the fire and sat without saying a word. Nobody did for a time. Even Helene remained quiet, resting snug in Nikalys’ arms. Kenders thought the girl had fallen asleep until she shifted and looked up at Nikalys’ face. The little girl gave him a tiny smile before laying her head back down. It was as if she were simply checking to see if he was still there.
Broedi broke the silence with a long, weary sigh. Looking to Sabine, he rumbled softly, “I wish to try something, uora.”
Sabine’s eyes grew suspicious.
“What?”
Broedi replied, “Nothing I will do will be harmful to you or the little one. Try to remain calm.”
Kenders suspected she knew what the hillman was planning. Catching Sabine’s eyes, she offered a friendly smile and said, “Don’t worry. Broedi’s mostly harmless.”
The hillman glanced at her, his eyebrows raised slightly.
Kenders shrugged. Harmless was a relative term.
Sabine remained motionless, the expression on her face wary.
“What do you want to try?”
Broedi picked up the waterskin beside him, uncorked the top, and poured a puddle of water on the ground. A moment later, Kenders felt the now-familiar crackling and watched as a few brilliant, blue Strands of Water danced around the spilled water. Turning her attention to Sabine, she watched the young woman tilt her head and squint, straining to see what Kenders could see as plainly as the sun at midday.
Helene sat tall in Nikalys’ lap and twisted around to stare at the Water Strands, her eyes bright and a wide smile on her face. “Those blue ribbons are much prettier than yours, Sabine.” She did not show a hit of fear.
While Kenders admired the little girl’s courage, it struck her that a four-year-old was showing more bravery than she was. She did not know what to do with that realization.
Broedi used the Strands of Water to weave a simple pattern. The puddle of water drew up, off the ground, flowing upward and back into the skin. Once inside, Broedi replaced the stopper and stared at Helene.
“Can you see the blue or orange ribbons better?”
As Helene stared at the large hillman, her expression darkened, visibly unsure of the giant man. With worried eyes, she looked to her sister. After Sabine nodded her head—somewhat reluctantly—Helene peered up at Nikalys. He gave a reassuring smile and patted her back gently.
“It is fine, Helene. Broedi’s a nice man.”
Looking back to Broedi, Helene whispered, “Both are shiny.” She paused. “Blue is prettier, though.”
With a nod, Broedi placed the waterskin on the grass. A moment later, Kenders felt a surge of gold and orange. Strands of Will combined with the flickering orange of Fire in a pattern Kenders was still trying to master. There was a subtle difference in the Weave this time, however.
A tiny man of flickering fire, no bigger than Kenders’ hand, appeared above the flames of the campfire. The man pranced about, doing a funny little dance in midair. Helene laughed gleefully at the display.
“What colors do you see now?” asked Broedi.
“Orange!” giggled Helene. “I like the dancing man! Sabine? Why can’t you do that?”
Sabine did not answer. She was staring at the figure over the fire, an anxious frown affixed on her face.
With a poof, the dancing man disappeared, prompting a disappointed “Oh…” from Helene.
Again, Broedi picked up the waterskin and uncorked it. The crackling returned and Kenders saw the rippling, cobalt blue strings joining with sparkling silver as Broedi
poured the water onto the ground. Instead of the water splashing onto the ground, though, it took the amorphous shape of another small man.
Helene shouted in delight, “Those ribbons look like your necklace, Sabine!”
Everyone looked to Sabine as the farm girl reached to her neck, pulled out a simple silver chain necklace, and stared at it.
Lowering the waterskin near the ground, Broedi said, “Climb back in, please.” The figure of water stepped over and climbed into the hole, disappearing. The hillman looked at Sabine and asked, “Have you seen anything besides the blue Strands?”
Sabine shook her head slowly, all the while staring at Helene nervously.
Broedi tried two other small weaves of Air and Life, but neither sister responded. As Broedi released the green Weave of Life, halting the rapid growth of a patch of grass, Helene spoke up.
“Can you make the brown ribbons again?”
Kenders and Broedi exchanged looks. Helene was evidently speaking of the Strands of Stone Kenders had used to pulverize the house wall. Kenders prayed Broedi was not going to ask her to do something with them now.
“Not now, little uora,” replied Broedi gently. “It is late and you should get some sleep.”
Kenders breathed a sigh of relief.
Shaking her head, Helene said, “But I’m not tired.” She immediately yawned.
Managing to sweep aside whatever worry that rested on her face, Sabin outstretched her arms, smiled, and said, “Come here, Helene. Let’s lie down. And no arguments, please.”
While pouting, Helene nonetheless climbed from Nikalys’ lap and began walking to her sister. Halfway to Sabine, she halted, turned around, and ran back to Nikalys. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on his cheek.
“Good night, Nik-lys.”
She seemed to have trouble saying his name correctly, having yet to get it right.
Clearly surprised by the display of affection, Nikalys nonetheless smiled at the little girl and said, “Good night, Helene. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave her a quick hug.
Helene nodded and scampered back to Sabine. Launching herself into her sister’s arms, she demanded, “Sing me my song.”
Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) Page 42